


And so the Senator Fell in Love With the Donald

by TheAnnoyingAlien



Series: Vampire AU I Guess [3]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Bad Decisions, Breaking and Entering, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunkenness, Excessive Drinking, Frenemies, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnnoyingAlien/pseuds/TheAnnoyingAlien
Summary: The weekend following the election Donald Trump calls upon his secret lover Bernie Sanders to collect upon the bet they made back in September. However, collecting on the bet isn’t the only thing Trump wants. What fresh hell has Bernie gotten himself into this time?





	And so the Senator Fell in Love With the Donald

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote some more bullshit for whatever this is happy Halloween I hope this goofy ass shit gives you something to laugh about and help ease your mind in anticipation of the impending Election Day. I ran out of ideas for Twilight puns for the titles so I referenced a quote from Twilight with it instead (“and so the lion fell in love with the lamb”). Full disclosure, I haven’t read any of the Twilight books or seen any of the movies, anything from Twilight referenced in whatever this series is has been stuff that I looked up. I'm not really into Twilight honestly but looking up stuff about it so I could have Trump reference it and Sanders make fun of it for these ridiculous fics has been amusing. Anyways, enjoy.

“I still can’t believe you thought I was one of those, Donald! You know you can’t believe anything out of the mouths of the Clintons, it’s all fake news!”

Donald Trump grimaced and turned his gaze away from the absurdly large gold-plated flat screen TV he had set up in his equally outrageous and gold-encrusted bedroom, coming eye to eye with his running mate, Mike Pence.

“Stop bringing that up, Mikey!” He snapped. “Just be quiet and let me enjoy Taylor Lautner in all his sexy werewolf glory! And you, cut it out! You’ve had more than enough of my blood tonight!” Bernie Sanders had sidled up to Trump’s other side and had been attempting to sink his fangs into his neck, but with Trump now shooing him away he relented. The senator let out a defeated sigh and turned away from his lover, reluctantly focusing back on the movie.

“This has been such a shitty week!” He grumbled. “First you somehow manage to win the election and then, even worse, I have to waste an entire day watching all these stupid movies with you!”

It was Friday evening now, three days since Election Day, and Trump, having somehow pulled off an unexpected win, had called upon Bernie to collect on the bet they had made back in September. Bernie had been quite confident then that Trump would lose and had been happy to wager with him, thinking he would be guaranteed an easy victory. On November eighth he had spent much of the day gleefully eyeing the paper shredder in his senate office, looking forward to destroying each and every one of Trump’s horrible Twilight novels once the votes had been tallied and Hillary had been deemed the winner. Unfortunately for Bernie and the rest of the country, Trump, while losing the popular vote substantially, managed to snag enough electoral votes to secure the presidency. Now Bernie was here, naked, cuddled up in bed with an equally naked Trump and Pence and waiting for Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 2 to be over so this torturous marathon of movies would end.

“These movies aren’t stupid! They’re the coolest, the best, the most romantic movies of all time!” Trump insisted. “Besides, this one’s almost over! You don’t have to watch it for much longer!”

“I don’t really care for these movies either Senator; I only watch them with Donald because he loves them so much.” Pence admitted. “But are you sure the day’s been as awful as you’re claiming it has? From my perspective you look like you’ve been more than enjoying yourself.”

“Well, it hasn’t all been bad,” Bernie conceded, “Some of it has been kind of nice.” He had preoccupied himself for much of the films by making love to Trump and Pence instead of actually watching, and he had nipped at both of them a few times for small samples of their blood as they had gorged themselves on popcorn, candy, and Diet Coke. The gold lamé sheets were littered with discarded popcorn bags, candy wrappers, soda cans, and various articles of everyone’s clothing and Bernie was feeling uncomfortably sweaty and sticky from the marathon sex accompanying the marathon of movies, but there was something so lovely about being snuggled up with the two men. He detested them for many reasons, was deeply concerned about what they would do to the country when they entered office in January, but in a very weird way he found their company pleasing. Finally, the credits started rolling, complemented by “A Thousand Years” by Christina Perri. Bernie breathed a sigh of relief, glad that his long nightmare of being subjected to Twilight was finally over. He turned to Trump and was surprised to see that the man looked to be on the verge of tears. He was attempting to remain stoic, but his lower lip was quivering, his eyes were misty, and he was very clearly about to lose his composure.

“Oh, Donald, do you need me to get you a tissue?” Pence offered as he lovingly pressed his hand to Trump’s cheek.

“No, I’m good, I’m gonna be okay! I promised myself I wouldn’t cry at the credits anymore! Nope, not gonna cry this time!” Trump huffed. He managed to not cry for about five seconds, then he burst into tears and grabbed hold of Pence, bawling loudly and melodramatically against his shoulder. “Oh, how can I not cry?! Edward and Bella love each other so much! They’re gonna love each other for a thousand years, just like the song!” He sobbed. Pence kissed his forehead and patted his back softly, whispering soothing words to the president-elect as he let him continue with his gross wailing.

“Is he gonna be good?” Bernie asked. He’d seen a lot of over the top emotional outbursts from Trump, had watched him explode with anger and boast with pride, but never before had he witnessed anything like this.

“He’ll be fine,” Pence assured him, “He always gets weepy at the end of Breaking Dawn. I just hold him and let him have a good long cry and then he’s good as new.”

“In that case I think I’ll be leaving now,” Bernie decided, “I’ve satisfied the bet and I’ve had my fill of blood and sex for the evening.” He rose from the bed, gathered up his clothes, and began to redress. He had only gotten as far as putting his pants back on when he felt a familiar pair of tiny hands wrap around his arm. Sighing, he turned to find Trump clinging to him. He looked like even more of a mess than usual, eyes puffy from his crying and tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving streaks in his fake tan.

“Don’t leave yet!” He pleaded with Bernie, still sounding a little choked up. “Stay a little longer! I need to show you something important!”

“What is it?” Bernie groaned. “It better not take long. I’d like to be back in Vermont by morning.”

“It’ll only take a minute!” Trump assured him, and then, turning to Pence, he asked, “Mikey, do you still have what I gave you?”

“I do, I left it in the safe in your guest room, but Donald, I don’t think that now is the best time to give it to him!” Pence advised. “He’s mad about the election and mad about Twilight! You should wait a while, give him some time to cool off. That way he’ll be more likely to accept it.” Trump, as usual, didn’t listen to the helpful guidance being provided to him.

“No!” He snapped, his sadness over the movie now replaced with his usual foul temper, “I’m gonna do it right now! Now quit stalling and go get it!” Mike rolled his eyes but obediently got out of bed, threw on a robe, and hurried out of the room to fetch whatever it was Trump wanted. Bernie was more confused than irritated now.

“What are you-“ He started to say, but Trump pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Shhh,” He shushed him, “You’ll see.” Trump got out of bed, located his MAGA briefs, which had somehow gotten stuck on the chandelier when they had all tossed their clothes aside, and slipped them back on. He found his tie and haphazardly tied it around his neck, then pulled his blazer around his shoulders. Bernie wrinkled his nose in disgust at the sight of his half-dressed lover. If Trump had been trying to make himself look more presentable for whatever he had planned, he had failed miserably. Pence finally returned, holding something behind his back. He discreetly handed whatever it was that he was holding over to Trump, who thanked him with a quick peck on the cheek. Facing Bernie again, Trump clasped one of his hands in his own, keeping the other hand concealed in the pocket of his blazer. He got down on one knee, an action that immediately filled Bernie with dread.

“Oh shit!” The senator exclaimed as he realized what was happening. This was a proposal! Trump, undeterred by Bernie’s panic, withdrew his hand from his pocket, revealing the mystery gift to be a small velvety red box.

“Bernie my vampire prince, I’ve given you my blood and my body, but I wanna give you something else,” He began, “Will you be the Edward to my Bella and marry me?” He popped the box open, presenting Bernie with a gaudy looking engagement ring.

“Fuck no!” Bernie sneered, yanking his hand out of Trump’s grip. “I’m not marrying you, you idiot!”

“Aw come on! Please?” Trump whined, begging like a small child. “We don’t have to legally or publically marry! We can have a common law sort of thing! I’ll stay quiet about your ties to me, I’ll let you keep your image as a left wing hero, I won’t expect you to act as my First Gentleman or to be with me at state events or anything like that! You can keep visiting me secretly like you have been! Just say yes, Bernie! I’m being very very generous with the terms here! Besides, I already asked Mikey and he said no!”

“How lovely, I’m your second choice,” Bernie muttered sarcastically, “Couldn’t have Pence so I’m the next best thing apparently.”

“Well, it’s not like he didn’t want to marry me,” Trump grumbled, completely missing the sarcasm, “It’s just, well, you tell him, Mikey!”

“Donald gave me the same terms he’s giving you, and I really did want to say yes, but I knew it’d be smarter to say no,” Pence explained, “He loves me very much and I love him, but it’s better for us to keep a healthy distance between us. We already have such a close, highly scrutinized public relationship and we don’t want anyone getting the idea that we’re anything more than running mates. Given my history of being anti-gay I especially can’t afford to have anybody finding out I’ve fallen in love with and share my bed with another man.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Bernie groaned, shaking his head, “At least if people found out about you two they’d be more understanding of how you became lovers since you’ve got a close working relationship! They’d definitely be mad at you for being the hypocrites that you are, yes, but they’d have an idea of how your relationship arose. They wouldn’t look as kindly upon me if I married Donald and we got found out. He embodies everything I detest politically, we’re on completely different sides, what would people think if they learned I was sleeping with someone like him? What if they started investigating us and learned we had married?”

“But no one has any reason to investigate you and I, Bernie!” Trump claimed. “We’re not working together, you always talk shit about me on Twitter or on the fake news and then I talk shit about you right back, you’re gonna be against me in congress when I take office-there’s no reason for anyone to suspect we’re lovers! The only people who know that are Crooked Hillary and her daughter, and we’ve got dirt on them so neither of them are gonna talk!”

“Yeah, it’s mutually assured destruction,” Pence pointed out, “They know our secrets and we know theirs. If Hillary tries to expose us we’ll expose her right back! We’ll tell everyone that she married a vampire and bore his child!”

“Then everyone will come after them, even the liberal media!” Trump cackled. “It’ll be like when the Volturi came after the Cullens!”

“It’s true that many people look badly upon vampires and upon relationships between vampires and humans, but that’s nowhere near as bad as having an affair with someone whose political views are the complete opposite of yours!” Bernie reasoned, “The public might be up in arms about the whole ‘being a vampire’s wife and having his half-vampire baby’ thing for a little while, but it’d blow over pretty quickly, while an affair with the enemy would not. I think I should say no to this proposal.”

“You think you should say no or you want to say no?” Trump pressed. “Come on, Bernie! You know you wanna be with me! Say you’ll marry me!” Bernie stood there for a moment, silently contemplating his next response. As much as he despised Donald, he found himself always drawn back to him, captivated by him, lusting for his blood and his body. Would it really be so bad to say yes? Oh, the political backlash if they were found out would most certainly be horrid, would spell the end of his career and obliterate the godlike reputation he had among starry-eyed white leftists and college kids. But then again, Trump, in one of his rare instances of being right about something, did bring up a good point about how unlikely it was that they’d be found out. They had such a hostile public relationship, appearing on the outside to be vicious enemies. Bernie also agreed with Pence’s assertion that the chances of Hillary and Chelsea revealing their secret were slim. It wouldn’t help them in any way; it wouldn’t change the outcome of the election. It’d make Trump look bad, but he already did a pretty good job of that on his own, and it wasn’t worth Hillary exposing her own secrets over. Bernie let out an uneasy sigh. He was going to do it. He was going to say yes. The country was divided and things were so batshit crazy these days; would marrying his enemy really be the most bizarre or controversial thing to happen?

“Fuck it, everything is going to shit anyways,” He finally gave in, “Donald, I accept the ring and your terms. I’ll let you marry me.” Trump let out a whoop of delight, grabbed hold of Bernie’s hand again, and slipped the ring on his finger as Pence applauded. Bernie held his hand up to the light and he couldn’t help but let a small smile grace his face as he watched the way the diamonds glinted and sparkled. He felt that the ring was ridiculously expensive and flashy, and he would never wear it in the senate or in public, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

“Can I get a kiss?” Trump requested, batting his eyes at Bernie in an attempt to be coquettish. Bernie groaned and shook his head at the attempt but reached out and pulled him into a kiss anyways.

“Since you’re going to be on the national stage from now on you need to be even more discreet with our relationship,” He warned Trump as they parted, “Don’t blab about this to your cabinet or anything like that. Absolutely no one can know about this.”

“Too late for that!” A new voice announced suddenly, making all three men freeze. They knew that voice all too well, recognized the familiar southern drawl. It belonged to one of the last people they wanted to see at that moment. Not two seconds later, Bill Clinton poked his head out from under the bed, wearing a smug, fanged grin.

“Surprise!” The former president announced himself as Trump, Pence, and Bernie looked on in shock.

“Holy fuck!” Trump cursed. “How’d you get in? How long have you been down there?”

“You left the window open and I flew on in,” Bill explained, “And I’ve been under there since part one of Breaking Dawn started.”

“Damn it, Mike!” Trump grumbled, turning to his running mate, “I told you to stop leaving the windows open! It lets in a draft and apparently crooked vampire Democrats too!” 

“But Donald, it gets stuffy and smells gross in here! You really need to let the place air out more, get rid of the stench of spray tan, hair spray, and week-old McDonald’s and KFC!” Pence insisted. “Besides, how was I supposed to know that he’d come bother us?” He nodded to Bill, who winked and made finger guns at them, still wearing his smug grin all the while.

“So, when’s the wedding?” The former president inquired, “Are you gonna have it in this golden monstrosity that you call your penthouse?”

“Actually, I was kind of thinking it could be a nice private little affair at Mar-a-Lago!” Trump beamed, oblivious to Bill insulting his home. “But you and Crooked Hillary aren’t invited!”

“How sad, I’ll try to contain my disappointment.” Another familiar voice scoffed sarcastically. Hillary Clinton emerged from underneath the bed to join Bill’s side.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Trump swore again. “You’re here too?”

“Is there anyone else under there that we should know about?” Bernie asked flatly. As if on cue, Tim Kaine squeezed between Bill and Hillary and peeked out at him, beaming brightly.

“Hello!” He exclaimed in a tone that was inappropriately cheerful for the given situation. “Congratulations on your engagement! This calls for a song!” Before anyone could advise him against it Tim whipped out a harmonica and started playing “Here Comes the Bride” on it. Bernie promptly snatched it from his hands and snapped it in two with his immense vampire strength.

“Enough of this!” He muttered, dropping the broken harmonica pieces to the floor, “Why did you three sneak in here?”

“Yeah, and how did Crooked Hillary and her sad little harmonica man get in?” Trump questioned, gesturing to Hillary and Tim. “Neither of them can fly!”

“It’s a long story,” Bill replied, “One that may or may not involve alcohol. I may or may not be a little drunk right now.”

“I thought you said vampires couldn’t get drunk!” Trump hissed at Bernie. “Explain, Bernie, explain!”

“I said they couldn’t get drunk by drinking straight up alcohol, not that they couldn’t get drunk at all,” Bernie clarified, “For us to get drunk we have to drink the blood of someone who’s been drinking. Drinking alcohol on its own does nothing to us.”

“We invited Tim over for dinner and drinks but Tim and I may have gone a little heavy on the chardonnay tonight,” Hillary admitted, “And then I may have let Bill drink from me afterwards.”

“And now here we are! The three amigos borrachos!” Tim announced, employing some gratuitous Spanish, “The three drunk friends!”

“So the three of you got drunk and decided to sneak into Donald’s tower?” Pence pondered aloud, trying to piece things together, “Why would you do that? Also, you still haven’t explained how Hillary and Kaine got in!”

“Honestly, our plan was to leave some dog shit in your bed as a prank, but we realized after sneaking in that we forgot to bring it. Before we could leave we heard you three coming back with the Breaking Dawn DVDs and had to rush to hide,” Bill revealed, “Also, I carried them in with me. Like this.” Bill got to his feet and grabbed Hillary and Tim, haphazardly slinging them over both of his shoulders. He floated about a meter off of the ground, hovering there for a few seconds, and then descended once more. He set Hillary and Tim back down and they leaned on him for support, all three of them a little wobbly on their feet in their inebriated state.

“I thought you told me you’d bring the bag of dog shit with you,” Hillary mumbled to Bill, “You said you’d take the dogs outside and then come back in with the shit.”

“Yeah, I did that, but then I gave it to Tim to hold,” Bill replied, “I didn’t wanna carry the two of you and the dog shit on the way over here. Tim, what did you do with it?”

“I was holding it but then I felt like I was gonna throw up so I set it down on the coffee table and hurried off to the bathroom,” Tim explained, “That was right before we left, when you guys called me out of there so we could leave I assumed that one of you had grabbed it. Also, I may have missed the toilet and may have accidentally thrown up in your bathtub instead. Sorry!”

“It’s fine, Bill’s done that before,” Hillary assured him, patting his cheek, “Just help us clean it up when we get back home. We should also make sure we throw the dog shit out. There’s no sense in trying to prank Trump when he already knows it’s coming and I don’t want it sitting in our living room overnight.”

“What if we headed over to Giuliani’s place and left the dog shit on his doorstep instead?” Bill smirked. “That’d be fun.”

“I’m not feeling up for that,” Hillary declined, “It’s been a long week and a long night and I kind of just want to lie down for a while. Let’s go home.”

“Yeah!” Tim agreed. “I’d like to crawl into a nice, warm bed right about now.”

“I’d like to crawl into a bed with you, my love,” Bill murmured, leaning down to kiss the top of Hillary’s head, “I’m not even feeling like having sex tonight, I just wanna cuddle up with you.”

“Bill Clinton not wanting to have sex? This is a first.” Pence scoffed dryly.

“Well, listening to you three making love for hours on end would put anybody out of the mood!” Tim teased him. “Gosh, I’ll never be able to unhear any of it!”

“Yeah, those sounds are going to haunt me for a while,” Hillary muttered, grimacing, “I knew about you and Trump, Bernie, but I didn’t realize you were seeing Pence as well. You sure know how to pick them, don’t you?”

“You’re really gonna come at me for my taste in men when you’re married to this guy?” Bernie sneered, gesturing to Bill, “And letting Pence in on this wasn’t my idea, I only did it because this one decided to blab to him about our affair and my being a vampire.” He gestured to Trump, who pouted at him.

“What? He wanted to know why I thought he was a werewolf!” Trump defended. “Besides, it’s really Chelsea ‘Renesmee’ Clinton’s fault for giving me fake news and making me think that!”

“Anyways,” Bernie continued, completely ignoring his paramour’s half-assed attempt to absolve himself of any blame, “Once Mike learned about me and what I was up to, he demanded to see me. I thought he was mad about me fooling around with Donald, but he was actually curious about what sex with a vampire and being drunken from was like, and me being me, I didn’t turn down the offer of sex and blood.”

“Now two months later here we are!” Said Pence. “Sanders might be an intolerant left wing degenerate, but he’s good in the sack!”

“Yep! He’s good at sucking more than just blood!” Trump added, making the three Democrats wince.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up and I’m not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or because of you three being gross.” Hillary retched, clutching her stomach.

“Y’all are fucked up!” Bill declared, “And so is your relationship!”

“Amen to that!” Tim agreed. “Though I did think the proposal was kind of sweet in a weird, twisted way!”

“Oh yeah, my proposal!” Trump remembered. “You three better not tell the liberal media about that! Why don’t we make a deal? I won’t tell anybody you got drunk and broke into my tower to leave dog shit in my bed if you don’t tell anyone about Bernie and I getting married. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Hillary sighed, “We’ll come back and leave dog shit in here some other time when you’re not expecting it. Come on guys, let’s go.” She grabbed Bill and Tim’s hands and the three of them began to drunkenly amble out of the room, deciding to exit the tower in the traditional way rather than using Bill as a living elevator again.

“Well, now that they’re gone, why don’t the three of us get cozy again?” Trump leered at his lovers. He flopped back atop the sheets and attempted to sprawl himself out enticingly among the various food wrappers and Diet Coke cans. Pence gladly clamored on top of him and began to shower him in kisses as he pawed at his MAGA briefs. Bernie hesitated a moment then let out a resigned sigh and joined them. He was really beginning to regret saying yes. The sex and blood were good, but what had he gotten himself into? They made love for what felt like the millionth time that night, and when they had finished Trump and Pence, who lacked Bernie’s vampire stamina, decided that they were done with him and wished to be alone to rest for the remainder of the evening. Bernie complied, redressing as the president and vice president elects cocooned themselves in their lamé sheets. The room was soon filled with the sounds of their snoring, and Bernie’s mind was filled with his own doubtful thoughts. Had he really made the right choice? He stared down at his engagement ring and twisted the band around his finger, feeling his stomach tighten as his nerves began to get to him. He had to get out of here and clear his head. Stepping up onto the windowsill, Bernie vaulted himself out, leaving his lovers for the evening.

“This election was so fucking insane.” He muttered to himself as he floated off into the night.

The End


End file.
